


anything

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crying, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Safeword Use, Tenderness, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 12:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18446225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: “I know you’d do anything to be treated like that. I’m not going to give it to you.”





	anything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dvldegg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvldegg/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [anything (中译)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19805248) by [Grimm_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimm_Black/pseuds/Grimm_Black)



Aziraphale’s hands ghost over Crowley’s thighs, and he whimpers, caught between wanting to sink further into the mattress or push up into the angel’s touch. He’s achingly hard, but Aziraphale won’t touch him, keeps teasing, keeps chucking at the desperate noises Crowley is making. He presses his thumb into the crease of Crowley’s thigh, and he hisses, canting his hips forward, begging wordlessly. Aziraphale hums, rubs the spot a few times, then moves on.

“I know what you want,” Aziraphale says in a low voice. He’s met with heavy silence, wordless begging, so he smiles in a deceivingly welcoming way. “Won’t you say something, dearheart?”

Crowley struggles for a moment.  _ “Aziraphale…” _

The angel hums, pleased, and runs both his hands down Crowley’s thighs, stopping at his knees and then working his way back up. “Yes, I know you want me, Crowley. But I also know what you want  _ from  _ me.”

Crowley blinks once, slowly, and he looks so lost, so  _ helpless.  _ Aziraphale rubs circles closer and closer to his cock, teasing. “Should I indulge you? No, I don’t think I should. I don’t think you’ve earned it.”

“Please,” Crowley whimpers, thrusting up into nothing, desperate.  _ “Please,  _ I’ll do anything.  _ Anything.” _

Aziraphale’s hands ghost up Crowley’s hips, to his waist. “Describe  _ anything.” _

Crowley shudders. His eyes flicker back and forth, staring up as though he’ll find a script to read from on the ceiling. Finally, he latches onto a thought. “I’ll warm your cock,” he says, looking at the angel desperately. “However long you want. Let you fuck my mouth afterwards. Come on my face.”

Aziraphale makes an amused noise. “That’s hardly a sacrifice, Crowley, you’d enjoy that far too much.”

Crowley groans, his head falling back on the pillow.  _ “Anything, _ angel, anything you want. Anything in the world, just  _ touch me.” _

“Oh,  _ touch you,”  _ Aziraphale says. “No, no, not at all. That’s not what you  _ really _ want.”

Crowley looks at him curiously, and it’s an odd look, brimming with unbridled lust. “It is.”

“No,” Aziraphale says simply. “Perhaps you’d like me to, yes,” and his fingers ghost so close then, and Crowley makes a choked little noise. “You’d like me to touch your cock, maybe even take you into my mouth, suck you off, swallow you down, turn you into a writhing little mess unable to whimper anything but my name.”

Crowley shudders, canting his hips up erratically.  _ “Yes,  _ angel,  _ please,  _ I’ll do anything—”

“No,” Aziraphale says, taking his hands off him completely, and Crowley twists and whines. “You want that, yes, but I know what you want even more. Something you want so badly, if you even thought I was going to give it to you,  _ really  _ give it to you, you’d be content never to touch yourself again.”

Aziraphale hooks his hands beneath Crowley’s knees, yanking him closer, leaning over him, taking special care not to even come close to touching him. He presses a kiss to Crowley’s lips, then hovers there, looking down at him, so close. Crowley’s eyes are huge, his pupils dilated, and he’s gorgeous, which makes Aziraphale grin.

“You want me to worship you,” he says softly, and Crowley’s eyes get impossibly wider. “You want me to  _ adore  _ you, sing your praise as I fuck you, shower you in affection, lavish love and devotion upon you, treat your body as a temple at which I pray, isn’t that right? Want me to flatter you, hail you, exalt you. You want to be revered, want me to tell you you’re loved, you’re cherished, you’re  _ adored.  _ Am I correct?”

Crowley isn’t breathing, trying and failing to press up against Aziraphale, his cock impossibly hard, weeping precum as he struggles to choke out a response.

_ “Yesss,”  _ he begs, his eyes glassy. “Oh, I’ll do  _ anything,  _ I mean it angel, anything in the  _ world,  _ whatever you want. Let you take another mortal lover. Vow  _ chassstity. Dissscorporate myssself.  _ Angel, anything,  _ anything—” _

“I know,” Aziraphale says soothingly. He brushes Crowley’s face with his thumb, his parted lips, his pretty cheek, and he smiles. “I know you’d do anything to be treated like that.”

He looks down at Crowley lovingly, and Crowley stares back up at him, eyes wide, desperate, begging.

Aziraphale pulls away from him completely, sitting back between his legs. “I’m not going to give it to you.”

Crowley sputters, sitting up to follow him, but Aziraphale pushes him back down so he’s laying flat on his back. Crowley is too startled to protest.

“You don’t deserve it,” Aziraphale says simply, and Crowley moans; it’s undeniably a noise of pleasure.

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale says in a low voice. “You  _ know  _ you don’t deserve it, you wicked thing. Deserve to be  _ humiliated,  _ and you enjoy that, too. Shameless,  _ wanton _ little thing. Want nothing more than to be adored, but you tremble in pleasure at being mortified. Make up your mind, Anthony, you can’t have both.”

_ “Pleassse,”  _ Crowley says. “Oh,  _ God,  _ angel, I—”

Aziraphale swats his thigh and Crowley hisses. “Blasphemous,” Aziraphale chides.

“I’m _ sssorry,”  _ Crowley insists. “I’ll behave.  _ I’ll behave.  _ Whatever you want, Aziraphale, I’ll do—”

“Anything, yes, I know,” Aziraphale says, sounding bored. “I do enjoy how flustered you get when you try to talk dirty, so let’s start easy. Beg me for it.”

“Please, Aziraphale,  _ pleassse—” _

Aziraphale swats his thigh again, harder this time, and Crowley yelps and gives a useless thrust of his hips into the empty air.

“Specifics,” Aziraphale instructs. “What do you want me to do to you, Anthony?”

_ “Praise me,”  _ Crowley begs, his voice strained. “Praise my body, my  _ cock,  _ fuck me and tell me how much you love me. Tell me you adore me, I’m the only one you’ve ever wanted—”

“Oh, but you’re not,” Aziraphale reminds him, and Crowley shudders. “I’ve wanted plenty others, you know that.”

Crowley whines. “Then  _ lie.” _

“You’d have me commit sins for you?” Aziraphale asks, feigning offense. “Self centered serpent.”

_ “Oh,”  _ Crowley moans, canting his hips up. “Aziraphale praise me,  _ please,  _ it’s the only thing I want. I  _ need _ it.”

“You  _ need _ it,” Aziraphale repeats, mocking him. “No, my dear boy, what you _ need  _ is to be tied down, punished for your wickedness. Have your sins recounted, a nice hard spanking lined up for each one.”

Crowley squirms. _ “Aziraphale…” _

“I don’t recall telling you to stop,” Aziraphale says. 

“I don’t know what to  _ sssay,”  _ Crowley insists miserably. “I—just— _ please,  _ Aziraphale… tell me… I want to be… I want to feel  _ adored…” _

Aziraphale tuts. “Perhaps you should have put some thought into that before you Fell.”

Crowley’s cock twitches and he whimpers, sinking into the pillow in shame. Without warning, Aziraphale takes him in his hand and strokes him roughly, and Crowley cries out, leaning hard into the touch.

“Oh,  _ pleassse!”  _ he moans. “Don’t  _ ssstop _ , Angel, don’t—!”

Aziraphale let’s go of him, and Crowley wails, reaching to touch himself in his place. Aziraphale grabs his wrist immediately, pinning it to the bed. “Do I need to tie you down, boy?”

“If you want,” Crowley whines. “Anything you want, Aziraphale, I—”

“Desperate,” Aziraphale mutters. “Never understand why they didn’t make you an incubus. You’re well suited for seduction, and so selfish, so shameless, achingly hard even when being humiliated. Just want to be praised. Would’ve been a good job for you.”

“No,” Crowley whimpers. “No, no, only you—only want you, only  _ ever  _ wanted you—”

“Don’t disrespect your musician, Anthony,” Aziraphale scolds. “You’ve had lovers, don’t lie to me.”

“One,” Crowley insists.  _ “One,  _ one, and still—Aziraphale  _ you— _ always you,  _ always you—” _

“One lover,” Aziraphale muses. “Six thousand years, and one lover to show for it. You’d think you’d have taken more, desperate as you are to be praised.”

“Only want you,” Crowley whines. “Aziraphale, please—”

Aziraphale takes his cock in his hand again, stroking him, and Crowley bursts into tears, throwing his head back against the pillow.  _ “Aziraphale—” _

“I don’t know why I touch you, knowing full well you don’t deserve it,” Aziraphale says. “You could come untouched at the  _ thought  _ of me praising you. You’re so tempting, Anthony. You’re going to get me into trouble, you are.”

“No,” Crowley begs. “Aziraphale, stop, tell me—”

“In all my years, all the lovers I’ve taken, I’ve never had one so desperate as  _ you,”  _ Aziraphale punctuates his sentence by rubbing his thumb against the head of Crowley’s cock, and he writes underneath him.

_ “No,”  _ he sobs, “Aziraphale, I can’t,  _ please,  _ tell me—”

“Are you going to come for me?” Aziraphale asks. “Going to come in my hand thinking about the praise you want, all that love and adoration you don’t deserve? You’re a wicked thing, thinking about being revered for what you are.”

Crowley is blushing deeply, his face wet with tears. “Aziraphale—”

“You’re not a temple,” Aziraphale continues. “You’re a ruin. Something once lovely and divine, now destroyed. You succumbed to temptation and now you want me to affirm you. I will not. No praise for you, Anthony, never any praise for you.”

_ “No,”  _ Crowley moans, reaching out for him.  _ “Pleassse—” _

“Come for me,” Aziraphale instructs. “Come for me knowing you don’t deserve it.”

Crowley thrusts into his hand, unable to stop the reaction of his body as he orgasms, even as he sobs,  _ “Eden—Eden—Eden—” _

Aziraphale let’s go of him immediately, miracling away the mess before he’s even done making it, drawing Crowley into his arms, panicked. “My dear—”

“Tell me,” Crowley sobs. “Tell me you love me, Aziraphale,  _ pleassse,  _ tell me—”

“Oh, I do,” Aziraphale assures him, holding him close. “Of course I do, Crowley, love you more than anything. Adore you.  _ Adore you,  _ Crowley, I’m sorry—”

“Anthony,” Crowley requests.

_ “Anthony,”  _ Aziraphale says gently. “My Anthony, so perfect. Pretty little thing.  _ Perfect  _ little thing. I love you more than anything, I’m so sorry. If I go too far—”

Crowley grunts. “Love you…”

“Yes, love you,” Aziraphale says, cradling him in his arms. “So lovely. Deserving of all the praise in the world.”

Crowley huffs, somehow both amused and annoyed on top of being overstimulated. “Don’t get unrealistic, angel.”

“It’s very realistic,” Aziraphale insists, worry creeping into his tone. “You’re perfect, my dear.”

“If I was perfect,” Crowley says slowly, “I wouldn’t have Fallen.”

“No,” Aziraphale says quietly, stroking his cheek gently. “You know I didn’t mean that. Never mean that. I was just trying to get a rise out of you, my dear. I don’t really believe any of those things I say. They’re lies.”

“Well, you sound so convincing,” Crowley mutters.

“If it ever becomes too much—”

Crowley grunts again, twisting in his arms. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale says, and he maneuvers them so they’re laying in bed, Crowley curled up almost entirely on top of him, his face tucked into the crook of his neck. “Is there anything you  _ do  _ want? Anything at all, dear boy, it’s yours.”

Crowley sighs, hesitant. “Praise me?”

Aziraphale shakes his head. “No more of that tonight—”

“Not sexual,” Crowley insists. “Just… affectionate.”

He looks up at Aziraphale. “Please?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale says gently. “There’s nothing you don’t deserve, Crowley, I _adore_ you.”

Crowley listens quietly, drowsily, as Aziraphale mutters sweet nothings to him. Some are more believable than others, but even if Crowley has trouble buying into them, they’re soothing nonetheless. 

**Author's Note:**

> please practice safe and consensual sex,,,, run things by your partner and don't overwhelm them,,,,, <3


End file.
